


Sherlock Gets A Raspberry

by mandysimo13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Begging, Bottom John, M/M, Protected Sex, Shameless Smut, Some Crack, Teasing, Top Sherlock, mind palace interuptus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's been holed up in his mind palace for hours and John can't resist doing what he's about to do. He just hope Sherlock lets him live long enough to regret it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Gets A Raspberry

**Author's Note:**

> This work came from a head canon from a tumblr user, timelesslysilly.
> 
> Sherlock had been in his mind palace for much longer than John would have ever had wanted, or felt was healthy. After a grueling case which involved the rescuing of several children (and documents that Mycroft would never let him reveal); his consulting beau was exhausted. John could never tell what lead him to do such a masochistic activity, but he crept toward his pensive love and that tempting exposed strip of skin between t shirt and soft trousers. Once he was close enough (and said a quick prayer, hoping that Harry would at least treat his vinyl collection with dignity) Captain John Hamish Watson of the Northumberland Fusiliers put his face against that creamy thigh and blew a raspberry to end all raspberries.  
> The resulting squeak and tickle war (which lead to some rather….unchaste activities, was worthwhile)

John stared at the mass of dressing gown, body and messy hair that currently was taking up the entirety of their couch.

Sherlock had been laying on his back, still as the dead, fingers tented beneath his chin, for over four hours and John was starting to get worried.

It’s not like he hadn’t seen Sherlock disappear inside his own head before. In fact he had seen it several times a week since he moved in. It was a now a normal part of life that John had accepted.

But now that he had watched, intermittently over his coffee and newspaper, for the last four hours and it was becoming worrisome that Sherlock hadn’t so much as twitched. This new case had sent them on an almost two week long chase involving the rescue of trafficked children from Russia. It was exhausting and emotionally taxing but at the end of it, in front of Lestrade and the rest of the Yarders, Sherlock had seemed like his usual proud and unaffected self.

But now John was beginning to think that this case had taken a toll on him.

 _Didn’t he get sore after all that inactivity,_ John mused.

Then a shiver of movement drew his eyes to the couch. A small sigh and ruffle of fabric, the shifting so minute John would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching the couch like a hawk, hoping that Sherlock would come around and rejoin the world. But no. He had only shifted slightly on the couch, stretching his back it seemed.

John folded his paper and left it laying on the table, utterly forgotten. He strode across the room to look down upon his nutter of a partner. His position was the same, stretched out straight on his back with his fingers tented beneath his chin, eyes closed. The only difference was his stomach.

The hem of his t-shirt had ridden up during his stretching and exposed a full two inches of pale skin.

It taunted him.

It was porcelain smooth and it was absolutely taunting him. He had to do it.

John crept impossibly close to the couch but didn’t touch it. He eased himself down to his knees, quiet as mouse, and inched his face closer and closer to that delightful strip of skin. He held his breath and when he was about an inch from his intended target he paused.

He turned his head and looked up at Sherlock, hoping he hadn’t noticed his advancing. Seeing that nothing had outwardly changed in Sherlock’s demeanor John steeled himself for what he was about to do and hoped to God that Sherlock let him live. He sucked in a deep breath and lowered his face to Sherlock’s belly and blew out a huge, loud, incredibly embarrassing sounding raspberry on Sherlock’s tummy.

In a second Sherlock had leapt up a foot off the couch, seemingly propelled by sheer indignity, and yelped unseemly.

“What the bloody hell, John!”

John had fallen on his back, rolling on the floor howling in laughter. Gasping he apologized, “I’m s-sorry,” he tried to catch his breath but only laughed harder at seeing Sherlock’s perturbed scowl. “I couldn’t resist!”

“Oh really?” Sherlock descended from the couch and shoved his hands under John’s jumper, tugging at the dress shirt beneath. “Couldn’t resist?” His fingers grazed the sensitive skin beneath the fabric and caused John to howl in laughter.

“Sh-Sherlock! That’s not fair!”

“What’s that, John?” He tickled his ribs, gliding his fingers across the skin to tickle the skin of his belly. “I can’t hear you over the sound of laughter! Whatever could you be laughing about?” His fingers were relentless and John couldn’t catch his breath. He pawed at Sherlock’s shoulders and tried to shove him off, tried desperately to stifle his laughter and breathe normally, but Sherlock had the upper hand here. John tried to put his self defense knowledge to good use and throw him off but Sherlock caught his hands and pinned them above his head.

With the assault on his torso finally over John could at last suck in a lungful of air. He was still coming down from the rush of endorphins that flooded his brain from all the laughing and it took him a moment to notice that Sherlock was breathing hard above him.

They stared at each other, eyes skirting across each other’s faces, panting heavily after their tussle on the floor. Their playful air had somehow turned into something charged. The air between them hummed with a sudden need. John swallowed thickly and his entire scope narrowed down to Sherlock’s mouth.

With no preamble Sherlock surged forward and took John’s mouth with his, capturing John’s answering moan in his mouth. The kiss was bruising, passionate. Sherlock nipped and sucked at John’s lower lip and John moaned loudly, writhing beneath Sherlock with desperate need. The need to use his hands, still trapped at the wrist in Sherlock’s hands, the need to strip them both and feel the crush of their bodies together was so intense that John was soon almost incoherent with desire.

Taking both John’s wrists in one of his large, strong hands Sherlock used the other to push John’s jumper up towards his head. John complied with the movements by arching his back to make the slide of the jumper easier. Sliding it up over his head was awkward but manageable and Sherlock wrapped John’s hands in it, effectively trapping them and making it easier to hold him. He then turned his attention to the buttons on John’s button down; Popping the buttons one by one and mouthing each new inch of uncovered skin.

By the time his chest was exposed, the shirt drawn back as far as it would go, John was a whining, panting mess. And he hadn’t even been touched yet.

“Please,” John whined, “I need-”

“I know what you need John,” Sherlock purred, his head mouthing the skin above his waistband. He used his free hand to undo John’s belt and fly. Once his trousers were open he ran his tongue along the length of exposed waistband on John’s pants. John bit back an honest to God mewl at the sight.

“But I don’t know if you deserve what you want so badly.” John’s prick twitched, clearly offended by the idea of not being touched. “You disturbed me, John. There have to be consequences.”

“God, I’m sorry, Sherlock!”

“I don’t really think you are,” Sherlock hummed, lips just above his straining cock. He could feel the front of his pants get damp from a bead of precome. He was so hard, painfully hard and Sherlock was torturous. “I think,” he said before flicking his tongue out for the barest of licks against his clothed cock and causing John to buck and swear, “That you need to beg for me.” He ran his free hand up the length of John’s thigh, skirting over the crease of his pelvis, and spread his trouser fly wide open with his pointer and middle finger, exposing more of his length to the air.

“Christ, Sherlock, I’m sorry,” John panted and tried not to buck into Sherlock’s hand. “What do you want me to say? Please for the love of God just touch me! Fuck me! I need you so badly, Sherlock!”

“Mmm….not good enough. Though you’re well on your way to gaining my sympathies.” He dropped a barely-there kiss to the head of his clothed penis and followed it with a flick of another teasing lap of his tongue, tasting the salty fabric. “Louder. Say exactly what you will not do again. Let Mrs. Hudson hear you.” Sherlock punctuated the order with a sharp nip above his waistband. “Then maybe I can be persuaded.”

“You’re cruel, you know that?”

“Mmmyes. And you’re so turned on you’ll do anything I ask. Won’t you John?”

 _He’s right and you know it. You’re pathetically enamored and impossibly horny and you know you will,_ his internal dialogue screamed at him. He resigned himself to his fate.

“Sherlock, I am so fucking sorry that I blew a raspberry on your stomach while you were in your mind palace and I promise never to do it again if you take pity on me and fuck me until I can’t bloody well think!”

Obviously it was the right thing to say because in a second his hands were released and Sherlock was sliding John’s trousers and pants off his hips and over his ankles while John struggled to get his hands out of the tangle of his jumper. He saw Sherlock stand, the evidence of his answering arousal apparent in his tight, posh dress trousers. He fixed John with a dominating stare. “Don’t move.”

John nodded and watched as Sherlock stepped past him and down the hall to his room. In moments he returned carrying a bottle of lube and condom and a pillow. He sank to his knees between John’s spread legs on the floor and leaned over him, shoving the pillow under his hips. The lid on the bottle popped open and Sherlock coated his fingers, eyes on John while he slicked them.Once they were suitably coated he closed the distance between their mouths and kissed John hard and deep while his first finger circled and prodded his entrance.

Sherlock took his time opening him up; More punishment for his crime, John supposed. It took nearly ten minutes and three fingers before Sherlock was satisfied that John was not only ready to receive him physically but mentally as well. He was right, John would have done anything Sherlock asked of him if he would just get it over with and fuck him already.

When Sherlock pushed his way inside him John cried out, clutching Sherlock’s shoulders like anchors, twisting his fingers in the fabric of his shirt. After a couple of slower thrusts, Sherlock testing for resistance of any kind, the detective picked up a ruthless rhythm that had them sweating, cursing and moaning loudly into each other’s necks.

“Sherlock,” John groaned, dropping kisses into Sherlock’s neck. “I’m so close, fuck, don’t stop!”

“Come for me, I want to feel you come.”

Sherlock’s rhythm faltered for a moment but John didn’t care because there was Sherlock’s hand between them stroking his neglected cock. He couldn’t hold back any longer. Three strokes was all it took before he was coming, shouting Sherlock’s name into the air. Sherlock stroked him through his climax and followed John shortly after, biting John’s neck as he came, sucking a bruise into the skin.

When it was over they laid there on the floor, twitching and panting against each other, Sherlock draped over John’s body. John felt the loss of Sherlock as he pulled away for the briefest of moments to pull out of his hole. But then he resettled himself atop John, letting John grip him round the sides as they covered each other’s heads and necks with kisses.

Eventually the hardness of the floor became too much and John lamented the need to move. He made a movement to push Sherlock up and off him and Sherlock complied. They stood and together walked to the couch and slumped into the cushions, John slower and more gently due to his rump’s recent activities. Once they were settled, cuddled against each other John let out a little giggle.

“What’s so funny, John?”

“If that’s what I get for disturbing you in your mind palace maybe I should do it more often.” He burst out anew with laughter at Sherlock’s horrified face and held the detective’s face in his hands. “I’m only kidding, love. I did promise didn’t I?” He kissed him softly and felt Sherlock relax. “But I didn’t promise anything about when you’re sleeping.”

John laughed at the face Sherlock made and leapt of the couch to evade a nearly well placed smack of the shoulder and ran towards his bedroom with Sherlock on his heels.


End file.
